


The Poisoned Apple

by HonestPassion13



Category: Original Work
Genre: 9/11, F/M, First Love, High School in the Eighties, Substance Abuse/Drug References, Supernatural - Freeform, The Turned (they might be vampires), Time Hops, Voyeurism, suspense/thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-01-23 01:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21311923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HonestPassion13/pseuds/HonestPassion13
Summary: First few chapters only!Years after marrying her high school dream guy Luke, shy and reserved Marie has an affair with charismatic and seductive bad boy Michael, the man who always lusted after her since they were teenagers.  Now, ten years after the affair, Michael's become something more and has come back to claim what's his.
Relationships: Marie Jordan Jackson/Luke Jackson, Marie Jordan Jackson/Michael Riley
Kudos: 3





	1. Like a Gunshot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is the novel that I've been working on writing since around 2013. I finally decided to give it a go to make the first few chapters public(-ish) and let people see them. Pay attention to the timestamps because the story hops all over the timeline. I'm only putting the first few chapters out here, but please let me know your thoughts (constructive criticism is welcome, but please try not to be overtly rude). There's no direct violence in the first chapter, but I flagged it that because of what happens at the end. The 'M' rating here is mostly for adult themes (sorry in advance for those of you who have come to enjoy my smuttier chapters elsewhere).

**Wednesday, December 27, 1978**   
**Rainbow Springs, Florida**

Six-year-old Marie Jordan and her mother Mae were skipping along the boulevard in swimming suits, shorts and flip-flops, Marie’s long, dark hair in two braids, one on each side of her head, while her mother’s light brown locks hung loose at her neck. They were enjoying the last day of their sunny Florida vacation week with Marie’s grandparents before returning home to Maine, hurrying to get to the lake ahead of them. Marie had spent the previous day swimming and splashing in the cool lake water, enjoying the sun. Despite a massive sunburn to her pale pink skin, Marie was all too anxious to return again.

As Marie’s mother approached the beach, she put a hand out to stop Marie, saying to her daughter, “Stop. We can’t go down into the water today. Look, there’s an alligator over there.” Mae pointed towards the corner of the beach, maybe fifty or sixty feet away, where a five-foot-long alligator was basking in the sun at the edge of the water, mouth open wide, displaying its seemingly innumerable teeth.

Marie glared at her mother. To Marie, the alligator seemed so far away from the swimming area where Marie had been yesterday. “What if I just play in the sand? Could we please stay for a little while?” she asked hopefully.

“As long as you don’t get anywhere near to the alligator, I guess that’s okay, for a little while,” said Mae, tentative to give in. 

Marie and her mother removed their flip-flops, laid out their beach towels, and sat down on the sand. Marie began digging around with her pail and shovel, trying to build a sandcastle. The hot sand was burning Marie’s tender bare feet. She knew that if she could just get to the cool water, she would feel relieved and get to splash and enjoy the refreshing swim she had the day before. Marie viewed this as a battle of wills between her and her mother. She felt perfectly safe from the slow-moving lazy alligator that was so far away from her. How could she get her mother to allow her to swim? 

Marie gradually inched closer and closer to the water as she dug, a little at a time. After about ten minutes, her mother said, “Okay, Marie, you’re getting just a little too close there. I need you to scooch back now.” Marie scooched back about six inches and this seemed to please her mother. She was still at least fifty feet away from the waterfront. Her single goal was to enter the water, and she had not yet gotten there yet. After fifteen more minutes or so of trying inch her way to the water again, repeatedly being blocked by her mother, Marie decided to try another tactic.

“Can I just go right here?” Marie asked, pointing to a spot a foot or so away.

“No, Marie, you’re far enough,” said her mother.

“What about right there?” she asked, pointing to another spot.

“No, and if you ask me again, we’re going to go home.” Marie lost her resolve and gave up. She continued to dig in the sand for a few more minutes and then told her mother that she was done, and they headed home.

“Bless you!” said Mae, for about the twentieth time in the past five minutes, as Marie sneezed again.

“Bobby,” cried Marie, between sneezes, tears pouring down her face, so congested that all of her ‘M’s sounded like ‘B’s, her ‘B’s sounded like ‘M’s, and her ‘N’s sounded like ‘D’s, “I dod’t wat to sdeeze adybore! Cad’t you bake it stob?”

“I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’ve never seen anyone with allergies as bad as yours,” Mae empathized, “if I had anything I could give you for your allergies, I would, but we don’t have anything here in Florida. Here’s another tissue, sweetheart.” Marie blew her nose and looked as the tissue came away coated in clear, thin mucus the consistency of maple syrup. As soon as she wiped it away, more trickled down her nose. Marie’s eyes itched insistently.

“This is biseramle,” Marie said, “I wat to go hobe dow.”

“From now on, any time we go somewhere away from home, we’ll bring allergy medicine with us,” said Mae.

“... but it was too late. Snow White had already taken a bite of the poisoned apple. She had fallen under the evil queen’s curse and had fallen into a deep sleep,” read Mae from the thick storybook. Snow White was one of Marie’s favorite stories.

“Bobby, why did Stow White take the apple add eat it? Was she just stupid? Shouldd’t she dow you dod’t take food frob stradgers?” 

“Sweetie, sometimes even smart, good people make bad decisions. Now, Marie, stop interrupting and let me finish the story or I’m just going to stop now and put you straight to sleep.”

“Okay, Bobby,” said Marie.

Mae continued on with the story, uninterrupted. “The prince came back to the dwarves’ cottage and saw Snow White laying there in her coffin. He was beside himself with grief when he saw her. He leaned down and kissed Snow White. This was no ordinary kiss; this was true love’s kiss, and it broke the curse! Snow White awoke from her sleep and they lived happily ever after. The End.”

“Bobby, when I’b older, I ab goidg to fidd by true love add get barried add live happily ever after, just like Sdow White,” little Marie mooned.

“Maybe some day, sweetie... Maybe someday,” said her mother. She had a knowing smile as though something were keeping her from committing to such a statement. Mae helped Marie say her prayers and kissed her forehead, “Goodnight, punkin. I love you.”

“Gooddight, Bobby. I lobe you, too” said Marie.

**Thursday, October 4, 2012**   
**Bangor, Maine**

Marie looked out her office window in the accounting department at the Hodgson building with her startlingly bright green eyes. She hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten. It was well past dark. Luke and Daisy would be waiting at home for her to start making dinner. She logged off of the computer, sent a quick text letting Luke know to eat without her, picked up her things, and headed home.

When she walked outside, the air was brisk and cool. Had she been outside of the city, she might have been able to see the leaves beginning to turn colors. She bunched up her sweater around the buttons on her blouse, fending off the chill. In her knee-length skirt and open-toed heels, Marie was hardly dressed for it to be this cold. Her smooth, straight, chin-length dark hair did nothing to keep the chill off of her slim, bare neck, making Marie almost long for the extra warmth provided by layers of body fat she had lost years before.

As Marie rounded the corner to head to her car, she saw Michael for the first time in 10 years, standing 20 feet in front of her. She drew in an audible gasp of shock. He was dressed in a long black trench coat, a charcoal grey concert t-shirt, and blue jeans, his wavy hair the color of brownish-orange leaves she might’ve seen in those trees, tucked behind one ear and hanging shaggily down to his square jaw, as if it was starting to grow back out from a haircut he had gotten months and months ago. Michael’s stare, echoing nearly the same bright shade of green as Marie’s, pierced Marie through.

Though Marie hadn’t seen Michael in person in years and tried desperately to avoid him, he was still persistent in trying to contact her. She still got an occasional message from him that somehow slipped through her defenses. At this point, she just tried her best to ignore them. Marie hesitated for an instant, unsure if she should go back the way she came or just keep walking as if he wasn’t there. 

_No_, Marie thought, _I can’t let fear rule my life_. She focused her eyes in front of her and continued as if he were not there, walking resolutely and quickly, direct to her destination. When Marie reached where he was standing, she was intent on continuing to move forward around him, but Michael quickly grabbed Marie’s hands. Marie took the action her self-defense training had prepared her for and stomped the heel of her shoe into his foot, then aimed her knee at Michael’s groin, and tried to sprint away. Michael appeared completely unphased by the defensive gestures, quickly caught back up to where she was, forcefully gripped her upper arms, and pulled her down a deserted alleyway. 

“Let me go! Just stop! What do you think you’re doing? You know that this is wrong. You know I can’t be here with you, Michael. I’ll scream if you don’t let me go. Just … I have to go - now,” cried Marie, trying desperately to pull her arms out of Michael’s vice-like grasp.

“There’s something I need to show you first. Then I’ll leave, and you can go wherever you want to,” said Michael, cupping his right hand to Marie’s face for a moment, still holding her arm uncomfortably tight with his left hand. Marie felt an awkward chill between terror and attraction pass over her as the rough skin on his hand gently brushed her jawline. 

“My family is waiting for me,” she said, “Luke and I have a daughter to think about now.” In truth, Daisy was really only a small part of the reason she wanted to get away, but Marie felt like Michael would identify with the responsibility of the child more.

Michael unbuttoned and removed his trench coat. At first, Marie was very uncomfortable and didn’t know why Michael was undressing. She noticed that his arms looked much more muscular than she remembered them – nothing else. But then, he turned around with his back to her. In the dim lights from the neighboring street, Marie could see that Michael had wings, about four feet in height, running from his shoulder blade to his calves, folded flat along his back, sprouting from large holes cut into the back of his t-shirt. She was immediately struck by how easily someone could have assumed these were soft, downy feathers from a distance, but up close, they were clearly not feathers. The skin on his wings was papery and pale - almost white, bunched into tiny wispy shapes, the way that the surface of a balloon gets bumpy after all of the air is let out of it. She reached out towards them, but then pulled back away. Part of her wanted to touch them, but that was outweighed by her fear of Michael’s reaction. Michael turned back towards her and, with a loud popping noise like the opening of a big beach umbrella or an awning, spread his wings to reveal a wingspan of about twenty feet, end to end. When his wings were spread, they were thin and lined with many angled bones, slightly transparent, reminding her of a bat.

“What are you?” Marie whispered in horror, almost dreading the answer.

Michael’s voice was rough and low as he spoke. “Historically, some people have called us angels. Others have called us vampires. I don’t really know _what_ we are.”

Marie was in such shock that she could barely catch her breath. A dozen questions circled in her head. The most prevalent one blurted out: “But how …”

After a brief pause, Michael said, “Blood,” his response in a weary, ragged voice, full of regret. Michael paused. He put his head down and looked up at Marie with pleading eyes through his eyelashes. There was still some small part of her that might have loved him, or at least pitied him. It was so hard for Marie to hold anything against him when he looked at her like that, but inevitably, every time he did, Michael opened his mouth and gave her something to hold against him, “Fuck, Marie, you know me; I’m stupid sometimes. About six months ago, I was doing heroin with this girl in my apartment. I know I don’t usually go for the hardcore stuff like that, but she was just really cool with everything – and she was so smokin’ hot. She seemed so into me that I just went with it when she offered. I don’t even remember her name. I don’t know - Sara or some shit like that, but I just didn’t give a fuck that night. 

“She was one of us. We don’t get sick or get diseases anymore like normal human beings, so we really don’t care about whether we get something from someone else. She was passing back and forth the same heroin needle to me without realizing I was using it after her. I passed out while we were shooting up, and when I woke up later on, she was gone. About 8 hours later, I realized something was different. I had started to change. I still don’t think she knows she Turned me.”

Marie scrunched up her forehead in disbelief, “Is this some kind of joke – or some kind of convoluted ploy to try to get me back? Didn’t you know that there was something strange about her? See her wings or something?”

“We don’t all have wings, but the ones that do can’t get rid of them. She didn’t have them, and I don’t think she’d been Turned for that long. After ten or so years, we can start to get pretty pale.”

“Why are you showing this to me?”

“I want you to Turn and come live with me forever.”

All of the color drained out of Marie’s face as she groped for the alley wall behind her. She felt so short of breath that she thought she might pass out. Ten years ago, there was a moment when Michael saying something like that might’ve been all she ever wanted. Today, she couldn’t even begin to ponder something like that now. _How could Michael ruin my life like this – and what lengths would he go to in order to see it through?_ Marie thought, _How could I ever feel safe again?_

Marie braced her back against the wall and caught her breath. “Ju - just, just, get away from me… Get out of here! _Now_, Michael!” she wanted to scream at him, but took all the strength she could muster to just say it.

“I’m sure you have more questions for me. I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, “I’ll come after dark.” Michael bent down and planted a quick kiss on her lips before Marie could stop him, and then darted out of the alleyway running.

Marie usually listened to the radio on her way home, but tonight, she drove in silence, trying to figure out what to do and praying that Michael hadn’t done anything and couldn’t do anything to damage her marriage to Luke or her family.

_Why do things always happen to me?_ Marie thought to herself. It might have been pretty abnormal to most people, but after the things she’d already gone through, she felt like this bizarre turn of events was almost the status quo. _Every time things in my life have started to get good, _she thought, _something major always went wrong._ _Well_, _at least no more waiting for the other shoe to fall for a while..._

  
**Hampden, Maine**

By the time that Marie had gotten home, Luke and Daisy had already eaten dinner without her. Marie downed a quick microwave meal dinner and chased it with her nightly array of allergy pills. 

That night, Daisy had a class project to finish. Much to Luke and Marie’s dismay, Daisy had waited until the last minute to get started and she had enough left to do that her parents spent most of the evening helping her complete the project.

“Wow, this is really hard work,” complained Daisy, as they put the finishing touches on her diorama.

“Honestly, Daisy,” said Luke, unbuttoning his sweater vest, “you haven’t done that much. Your mom and I did a lot of this work for you. If I knew one of my students waited until the last minute to do something like this and then her parents did so much of her work for her, I wouldn’t give her credit for the project work.”

Marie stared, appalled, at Luke’s smooth, tan face, both in awe of what he just said and in awe of how handsome he was, as Luke ran his hands through his thick, wavy sandy blonde hair and rubbed at his tired temples. “Luke, Daisy _was _one of your students, two years ago in second grade, and I _did _do all of her work then,” said Marie, in an exasperated tone. _For your sake, it’s a good thing you’re so freaking hot. God_, Marie thought_, being sexy gets you off the hook a lot. Maybe too much._

“Well, I should have failed her, then,” said Luke with a chuckle and a smile, ruffling Daisy’s dark hair lightly with his hand.

“How about we read one from the Bible story book tonight,” said Marie, “pick a story,” she said, handing Daisy the book.

“How about Adam and Eve?” said Daisy, pointing to the page, “I like that one ‘cause they’re naked!” Daisy giggled as she scurried up into her bed.

“Okay, pipsqueak,” huffed Marie, thinking of how much Daisy sometimes reminded her of all her worst qualities, “if that’s what you really want.”

“... and the snake offered Eve a bite from the apple,” read Marie, mentally noting to amend the story to say ‘fruit’ instead of ‘apple’ the next time she read it. _The Bible never states that it’s an apple_, she thought, frustrated, “but Eve said, ‘God told us not to eat those apples.’ The snake replied, ‘I’ve eaten these apples and no harm has come to me. See that they’re good to eat?’ And so Eve took a bite of the apple.”

Marie looked up from the book and eyed Daisy. “So, Eve saw something she wanted and convinced herself it was okay, even though she knew it wasn’t. She was doing what she wanted to do instead of what she was supposed to do, wasn’t she?” asked Marie.

“Yes,” said Daisy.

“But it ended up being bad for her to do what she wanted, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Kind of like how you went to the park last weekend instead of finishing your project then, even though you already knew you had important work to do; wasn’t it?” Marie’s emerald gaze pierced Daisy through, looking directly into Daisy’s dark brown eyes.

Daisy frowned, “Yes…”

“You’ll know and do better next time, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“So, remember: sometimes doing what you know in your heart is right will be better, and may even make you happier, in the long run than doing what you think you want.”

“Daisy’s finally asleep,” whispered Marie, sitting down on the couch and sidling up to Luke’s right, shoving a throw pillow out of the way and running her right arm around him. Luke put both of his arms around Marie as she leaned in to kiss him. In almost an instant, the kiss started to build heat, growing in intensity, Marie’s pulse quickening. Both of them began breathing deeply as their hands began grasping and exploring one another. Marie felt Luke pulling her closer with each passing breath, squeezing and grasping at her body. Marie sighed in pleasure as Luke trailed his lips along her jaw and began to gently nip at her earlobe and kiss her neck.

“I’m not tired,” Luke whispered, with a sly grin, as Marie felt his warm breath on her ear and neck, “but let’s go up to bed.” Marie could barely find the will to speak as she nodded in encouragement.

**Monday, April 4, 1988**   
**Caribou, Maine**

“I’m not sure why I’m even bothering to try out, ‘Trina,” said sophomore Marie Jordan, standing with her arms wound around each other and legs crossed, feeling completely naked standing there in her 3-inch-long track shorts and standard-issue track team tank top. She knew that she hardly had the body of a runner, “I’m a horrible runner.”

“_I’m_ sure why you’re trying out,” giggled Katrina, “I think it’s a little something called ‘Luke Jackson’. You know, lusting after the boy from a distance isn’t a great way to start a real relationship?”

Luke was captain of the wrestling team and captain of the sprinters on the track team. He was a junior, and in the A.P. program; smart, athletic, handsome, and universally well-liked. It seemed to Marie that everything he did was beautiful and graceful, like he was. Marie stared longingly at Luke, across the field from her, longing to touch his smooth, even, tanned skin the silky color of extra-creamy hot chocolate after the whipped cream on top has dissolved into it, kiss his full lips, and run her fingers through his hair. To Marie, Luke looked almost like a bronze statue. His curly sandy blonde hair was cropped close on the sides, but left longer, soft, and free on top. His hair on the top of his head bounced lightly as he sprinted along the track. The tight, lean muscles in his legs flexed easily as he ran, beating the other four sprinters that were running with him by more than seconds. The hot sun glinted off of the soft blonde hairs on his legs, making them almost sparkle.

“It’s not just about lust, ‘Trina. I mean, yeah, c’mon, Luke _is_ beyond beautiful and I’d seriously love to get those arms around me, but it’s so much more than that. He’s just … _perfect_,” Marie swooned, “Smart, strong, kind, generous, funny … He is just ‘the one’ – I can feel it! There’s just no one else. He doesn’t even know I exist, but this is the only thing left that I can think of to introduce myself to him and try to get to know him before he graduates. I tried to work at the soup kitchen he volunteers at, but I got kicked out after I burnt the food too many times. I don’t qualify for the tutor program he runs for the elementary school kids because I’m not far enough along in English yet. This is his only co-ed sport, so this is my last chance I can think of. I hope this works.”

“Women’s 100 hurdles! Get over here quick!” yelled Coach Jackson.

“That’s me. Here goes nothing,” Marie told Katrina just before she jogged over to where the coach was standing. Marie got her lane number from the coach and then positioned herself on the starting blocks.

A few minutes later, as the starting pistol went off, Marie felt a surge of hope and she took off ahead of a few of the other runners. After successfully making it over the first hurdle, she smiled slightly. _This might not be so bad_, thought Marie, _I think I’m actually going to make the team_. Marie looked over to her right at the girl beside her and lost sight of the hurdles in front of her, stumbling over the next hurdle in her path, falling sideways into the next two girls on her left and the hurdles in front of them. She rolled sideways to the right, twisting her ankle around the third hurdle and taking down another girl. 

“Marie Jordan, you dumb oaf!” shrieked Moriah Townsend, senior, reigning hurdle champ, and drop-dead gorgeous, lying on the ground cradling the road rash along the length of her skinned leg, “If I can help it, you will never make this team! You might’ve just blown my chance at taking states this year!”

Marie’s ankle was excruciating, but worse than that was her pride. She limped off of the field to the athletic trainers, trying to hide her tears of shame. A few minutes later, the trainers had her sit down on a bench, inspected her already-purple ankle, and gave her some ice to wrap it in. They instructed her to keep it elevated for 10-15 minutes and then to take it to the doctor’s office for further inspection.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but that wasn’t the best hurdling I’ve ever seen,” said a voice from behind her. She turned to see Luke Jackson standing there, looking down at her with his dark brown eyes. Those were the first words Luke had ever spoken directly to her. “That ankle looks pretty awful, too. You might just not be cut out for hurdles,” Luke shrugged, “In fact, you might be better off not being on the team this year, Mary. Better luck next year.”

“It’s Marie,” she mumbled in a quiet voice, choking back the sadness, but Luke had already walked away.

Marie limped home in tears. The pain was intense, but the failure and loss only added to the feeling. After the horrible performance on the track, a trip to the urgent care confirmed that Marie had broken her ankle. Any chance Marie thought she had at making the team was long gone. Marie used her crutches to carry herself up the stairs to the bathroom to undress and get washed up. She didn’t want to think about this day anymore and was ready for it to be over.

As Marie entered the bathroom, she noticed that the curtains on the tall window were wide open. She hobbled over to close them, but she couldn’t reach the fastenings while standing on only one leg. “Mom!” she yelled down the stairs, “Can you please come close the bathroom curtains for me? I can’t reach them.”

While she waited for her mother’s reply, Marie assessed herself in the mirror momentarily. _Utterly forgettable, except for the braces, ghostly white skin, and huge clusters of acne all over_, she thought with a frown, _It’s a good thing I don’t wear glasses or else I’d be the complete package loser_. Her hair was dark brown and fell just below her chin. Her bargain drug-store perm was a little too frizzy, but it was all she could afford with her allowance once her father ran off with his secretary.

After a minute or so, Marie hopped over to the door and yelled again, then realized angrily that her mother wasn’t able to hear her from the other end of the house and wouldn’t be coming. _Great_, she thought, _not only do I have to go for six weeks without taking a real bath or a shower so that I can keep this stupid cast dry, but I have to take my sponge bath with the windows wide open, too! This day just keeps getting better and better…_

Marie hopped back to the sink, wrenched the team jersey off of her head, and began to fuss with the way-too-many hooks on the back of her lacey, too-small vivid bright purple demi bra. Going a cup size smaller was a necessity for the sake of running, but Marie had secretly hoped that she might’ve positioned herself so that Luke could’ve caught a glimpse of her pushed-together cleavage as she bent over or seen the edge of the racy dark lace fabric. _Oh well_, Marie thought, as she glanced at the bra in the mirror, _I guess I’ll just have to keep this little number to myself a while longer_.

Sixteen-year-old freshman Mike Riley sat back on his bed with the door locked and the lights dimmed, listening to loud rock music, lightly strumming his electric guitar in tune, smoking a joint, and looking out his window. Mike was – in his own mind – the epitome of cool. He was the lead singer and guitarist in a rock band now for a few months. It didn’t matter that he was flunking out of school because he already had a promising rock career ahead of him with weekly gigs booked for the band. He had everything that he thought he ever wanted in his life, just the way it was. When they went to perform, no one carded him to see if he was old enough; they just handed him free drinks. With his long auburn red hair, broad shoulders, and piercing green eyes, he was easily the most handsome member of the band – and Mike knew it. All of the groupies flocked to him. His bedroom had seen more action than most guys ten years older than him.

Out of the corner of Mike’s eye, he glimpsed some movement. He looked up to see his next-door neighbor out of his window, standing at her own window in her bathroom, wearing a track jersey and a leg cast. The girl and her mother had just moved in last summer. Though Mike had thought he had maybe glimpsed her in a couple of his classes the year before, when he was a freshman for the first time, he never really paid much attention to her. He had thought that her name might have been Marley or something like that.

He began watching his neighbor. Talking to no one in particular, he said, “Why are you wearing a track jersey, Marley? You know you don’t have the body for running.”

Mike’s neighbor looked away from the window and seemed to yell out something Mike couldn’t hear towards the bathroom doorway. She turned and eyed herself in the mirror, just staring for the better part of a minute. “You’re not so bad-looking, really, Marley,” Mike continued, “nothing a good acne medication and a few years to get those braces off couldn’t fix. Your dark hair and bright eyes could actually be really pretty if you didn’t have that weird frizzy perm.”

‘Marley’ hopped back over to the bathroom door for a minute, yelled again, and then looked resigned as she hopped her way back over to the sink. She pulled the track jersey over her head roughly, revealing a royal purple, lacey bra that just barely held in what were clearly at least C cups.

“Wow, did not see that one coming, Marley. You definitely have some untapped potential there.” Mike stopped playing his guitar and looked to check that his bedroom door was shut and locked, then added, “My cup runneth over – or more accurately, your _cups_ do.” He chuckled to himself at the play on words he had made. 

‘Marley’ began to reach around and unhook her bra. “Huh!” Mike mused, “Well, this could be good.” She shouldered out of her bra and let it fall to the floor. “Nice,” he said, letting his word trail off. He set down his guitar on the stand beside his bed, put the rest of his joint out, and laid back on his pillow to continue watching his neighbor through the window.

She started to yank her shorts off, hopping as she did so, doing what looked like was trying desperately hard to get the shorts around her cast, her whole body bouncing up and down with the force of her hopping. Mike‘s eyes were now glued to the window, but his hand started to venture downward to his pants and unfasten the button on his blue jeans.

**6:00 PM September 7, 2001**   
**Hampden, Maine**

“I don’t know, Sheryl,” said Marie into her huge, brick-shaped cell phone, careful not to cover the antenna with her hand to keep it from disconnecting, “I know we’ve had this trip scheduled forever, but I’m just not sure I can go after what happened last night.”

“Sweetie,” said Sheryl into the other end of the phone, “_Nothing_ happened.” Sheryl continued, “He’s been faithful to you since the day you became a couple. He loves you. The whole time you’ve been together, Luke has never laid a hand on anyone else but _you_.” Sheryl paused for a moment. “I really think you’re worried for nothing. Just come to L.A. with me on Tuesday, like we planned, please.”

“I don’t know,” hemmed Marie. Marie huffed out a breath of air, “I don’t think I _am _worried for nothing. He was unfaithful in his mind and heart; isn’t that bad enough?”

“Marie, _every_ person, man _or_ woman, has some dirty little desire they’ve been thinking of. He didn’t act on it. Not really, anyways. He loves you. After all of those years of seeking him out and building that relationship together, you’ve been married for _seven years_, Marie. _Seven_. You have a past together. He wouldn’t risk walking away from that.”

“Are you sure, Sheryl?” asked Marie, “I mean, I don’t really know what he’s thinking. What if I’m just not pretty enough to get it done for him? I was never his type, and we all know that. 

“I married the man of my dreams. I got all I ever wanted, but I was so far out of his league that it felt like we weren’t even on the same planet. How could I ever believe that I’m what he really wants?”

“Marie, you told me about what happened in college. In the end, _he_ chose _you_, Marie, not the other way around,” said Sheryl, “Can’t you trust that he chose what he wanted? Besides, after all that weight you lost last winter, you look gorgeous. He sees that.”

“Losing weight can never make me a twenty-two-year-old, athletic natural blonde with long legs, Sher. I’m still me, and that’s still not his type.

“What if I’m just like that horrible mustard-yellow recliner that he won’t get rid of, where he just holds on to it because it has sentimental value to him as his first chair, as opposed to because he actually thinks it is a good chair? Or what if he _has_ cheated and I just don’t know about it? How can I trust him alone for ten whole days immediately after what just happened? Besides, everyone talks about that whole seven-year-itch thing.”

Sheryl huffed out an exasperated breath, “Marie, do you really think that history – _or_ sexual chemistry– is the only thing that matters in a relationship? Do you think that history is the only thing keeping the two of you together? If there’s _anyone_ in this world who taught me that a relationship has to be about more than just sex, or stability, or what happened in the past, it’s you and Luke. Don’t you know by now that the way Luke feels about you is more than that? 

“Why don’t you just come and see how you feel? You can call Luke and talk to him for hours every night. It’ll be like you barely left home. Besides, you know that absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“How about I think about it?” offered Marie, “I’m still coming to your apartment in Boston to see you tonight, no matter what I do about the trip. I’ll see how I feel on Monday night, then decide if I’m up to going or if I want to come back home to be with Luke. Worst case, I’ll at least drop you off at the airport on Tuesday before I head out of town.”

“C’mon, this is our thirteen-year ‘friendiversary’,” urged Sheryl, “Lucky thirteen!” Sheryl chuckled. “We’ve been planning this for months. Both the concert and the flight are non-refundable tickets, Marie. I got ‘em at a huge discount. I even got us backstage passes! Marie, you’re my best friend; there’s no one else I want to go on this trip with. He’ll be fine.”

“I’ll think about it. I’ll see you when I get there,” said Marie, as she finished zipping her suitcase shut and pressed the end button on her phone.

**Tuesday, September 11, 2001 8:40 AM**   
**Portland, Maine**

As her cell phone rang again, Marie pulled off onto the shoulder from I-95 on her way back home. The phone had rang about a dozen times in the last five minutes. Despite her attempts to let it go to voice mail, the phone kept ringing.

“This better be important,” grumbled Marie, as she answered her phone, “If you have this number, you _know_ I’m on the highway right now and you know that I _don’t ever_ answer the phone while I’m driving.”

“Marie, they’ve taken over the plane.” It was Sheryl. She was whispering so softly that Marie didn’t think she had heard her right.

“What? Did you say that they’ve taken over the plane? Who has? Can you speak up?” urged Marie.

“No!” hissed Sheryl in a panicked whisper on the verge of tears, “They’ll hear me! These men have taken over the plane and I think they’re hijacking us! They have these little utility knives and one of them stabbed the flight attendant. She’s bleeding out and it looks like she’s gonna die. Marie, I’m so scared right now.”

“Oh my God, Sher,” said Marie, “I’ll be here on the phone with you as long as I can – as long as it takes, until you’re safe.” Marie looked down at her unused plane ticket on the seat beside her. It said United Airlines Flight 175.


	2. Reverb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The formatting is a little funky on chapter 1, so I apologize for that. MS Word is great for formatting documents, but not so great at giving up its formatting when you try to copy that document into something else.

**Friday, October 5, 2012**

**Bangor, Maine**

Marie’s fear of Michael was overwhelming her. Friday afternoon, Marie left work the instant 5:00 hit. She knew that Michael wasn’t supposed to arrive until dark and hoped she could just avoid him altogether. She figured that if he couldn’t get to her there at the Hodgson building where she worked, Michael wouldn’t try to find her elsewhere. The following day was Saturday, so she planned to spend the weekend enjoying time with Luke and Daisy, not thinking about work or Michael at all.

**Sunday, October 7, 2012**

**Hampden, Maine**

Marie spent most of the weekend indoors. Sunday morning, Marie went to church. Though she already knew she was forgiven for her mistakes with Michael and had been penitent about them, she felt that maybe this was God’s way of telling her she needed to spend more time seeking forgiveness for what she had done.

Sunday night, the phone rang. Marie walked over to the kitchen to take a look at the phone. The caller ID showed that it was Marie’s office. “Ugh, it’s work, honey,” Marie called into the living room, “I’ve got to take this.”

“This better be an emergency,” said Marie as she spoke into the handset, glowering into the phone.

“Even after ten years, you’re still the most beautiful woman I know.” It was Michael. Ice ran through Marie’s veins as she felt like all of the air was going out of the room.

Marie dropped her voice and whispered urgently into the phone, “Michael?!? Why are you calling me from the Hodgson building?”

“I wouldn’t’ve had to call you from Hodgson if you would’ve left work after dark on Friday. This is the only way I knew I could reach you.

“Now, my turn for a question. Why are you afraid of me?”

“Who said that I was afraid of you?” Marie asked, half in shocked fear, half in anger, trying to keep her voice from carrying.

“You didn’t have to say it; I know you are. I could tell when I met you outside Hodgson on Thursday night. So, why are you afraid of me? You know that I still love you. I just want to be with you, baby.”

A sudden rush of anger made Marie unexpectedly bold enough to say some of what she’d been holding back for the last nine years of avoiding Michael, “Michael, love is sacrifice … commitment ... support ... compromise... _Our_ relationship almost destroyed my marriage _and _made me question all of my beliefs, which is none of those things. You don’t love me. I don’t think you know what love is. I don’t think you _ever_ knew. You said you wanted me to live with you forever? You’re not _prepared_ for forever.”

“Hmm, this is unexpected,” said Michael, sounding frustrated, “I can’t tell anything over the phone.”

“What are you talking about?” Marie asked, angry and confused.

“I’ll write you a letter and leave it for you on your desk for tomorrow morning. Read it as soon as you get in and then – this is very important – destroy it _completely, _immediately. Neither of us can afford to leave written evidence of anything lying around.” Michael hung up the phone.

**Monday, October 8, 2012**

**Bango** **r** **, Maine**

Marie hurried to work on that Monday morning, skipping much of her usual morning routine. She allowed herself just enough time to take a quick shower and down her morning allergy pills, then she was out the door. Most Mondays, Marie was always running late, just on the edge of being given a written warning by her boss, but today, she was 15 minutes early.

When Marie arrived, she walked straight to her desk, hardly even taking the time to watch where she was going. She didn’t know if the force driving her that morning was fear of the letter being discovered by someone else she worked with, fear of Michael’s wrath if she didn’t read it, curiosity and anticipation of reading whatever it was that Michael had to say in the letter, or the fear of whatever was meant by the cryptic way Michael had told her to destroy it as soon as she had read it.

As Marie sat down at her desk, she could see a very thick business-sized envelope sticking up from the keys of her computer keyboard. Scrawled sloppily in big letters on the front of the sealed envelope was her first name. Though it looked as if it would have taken hours to write a letter that thick, the envelope was sealed shut and it looked as though the glue had ample time to dry completely.

Marie opened the letter to see that it was written in ridiculously small handwriting. Though sloppy, the hand-writing seemed readable. She knew that she had a full day’s worth of work to get done – after leaving early on Friday, maybe more than one day. 15 minutes was not enough time to read this letter. She set it down on the desk and began to read:

** _Marie,_ **

** _I know you have a lot of questions about what has happened to me. I’ve found out a great deal in the last six months and I’d like to share with you as much as you want to hear of what I know so that you can make an informed decision. It would have been a lot easier to do this in person, but I know you’ve been reluctant to meet with me. That said, I’ll try to anticipate your questions. If you have any others, write them out for me and keep them with you until the end of the day. If you’re willing to see me tonight after work, wait around until dark to leave the building and I will meet you like before. Bring the questions to me then; I can answer them there on the spot. If you’re not willing to see me, then leave them on your keyboard in a sealed envelope for me when it’s time for you to go and I’ll come back here to leave the answers tomorrow morning._ **

** **

** _What to call what I am \- I told you before that I’m not exactly sure what I am, but I know that you need a word to describe it, just to label it something. For now, for lack of a better term, let’s just call me Turned._ **

** _Drinking human blood \- this is probably your biggest question and the one I dread answering the most. Yes, I drink human blood. I know you have all these trendy vampire story ideals in your head about how there are ‘good vampires’ who drink only animal blood instead of human. Another one of the Turned I found told me not to drink animal blood, but I tried it once. A few minutes after I drank it, I became violently ill. There’s something about the way that Turned bodies are rebuilt during the Turn that routes the stomach almost directly to the bloodstream. Blood is pretty much the only way that we can get any nutrition. I’ve looked for other ways – believe me. I’ve been told that we can survive on new mother’s colostrum for short periods of time, but it’s hard to come by sufficient quantities of it for an adult and it won’t sustain one of us for long. I’ve broken into the blood bank a few times or acted like a junkie about to take a drug test and paid for blood from someone, but usually I just take it straight from the vein of someone willing._ **

** _Killing people \- I’ve never killed anyone by draining their blood. Some of the Turned are not as conscientious about such things as I am. It’s a hell of a legal mess to clean up if you’re caught, a hell of an actual mess to clean up a body, and it would really weigh on my conscience (yes, don’t be so shocked that I have one) to take someone’s life like that, though. I’ve accidentally infected a few others with whatever it is that makes me Turned and it killed both of them, once by the Turning itself, and once by sunlight (more on that below). Neither death was ever linked to me, but I regret it deeply for both of them._ **

** _Turning by blood \- I already told you how I was Turned. I’m still learning some things about this and I hope it isn’t above your head. I know you’re a very smart girl and you always did well in school, so I’ll try to keep the science simple and hopefully you can follow this. _ **

Marie couldn’t read any more. She looked down through the letter quickly. There were sections there titled for different methods of Turning, things that could harm the Turned, different specific mental and physical abilities, lifespan and aging, other Turned, and the list went on. Some of them seemed to be just a simple, “I don’t know,” while others were paragraphs long. He finished the letter with another few paragraphs talking about his feelings for her and plans he had for their future. It was just too much for her to handle emotionally right now. She put the letter away in her pocket without finishing it, and then put it out of her mind. She went about the rest of her workday without giving the letter another thought. 

Before Marie realized it, it was 5:00. It was her turn to make dinner at home and she knew she couldn’t stick around for long. She logged out of her computer, grabbed her purse, and turned to leave. 

Michael was standing behind her. Marie felt a cold chill run down her spine as she saw him standing there. “You didn’t read it all. And you didn’t destroy it,” he said.

“I didn’t have time, but I was planning to finish it later,” she lied quickly, afraid of his reaction if she told him she wasn’t going to read it, “How long have you been behind me?”

“No, you weren’t; don’t lie to me. I’ve been hiding out in the building all day today. I stayed to wait to see that you read it. I _need _you to destroy that letter, Marie, so you’ve got to finish reading it.” Michael’s urgency about destroying the letter was starting to sound a little strange to Marie.

“Okay, okay, I’ll read it tonight,” Marie said, grudgingly.

“I want you to know what the consequences and risks are before you decide to be with me. Go home and you can write your questions out for me tonight. I’ll be here to retrieve them in the morning.”

Marie turned to walk away and thought to herself, _It doesn’t matter; I would never be with you like that. I can’t leave my family. I love Luke with all my heart and Daisy needs a mother_. As Michael started to walk away, he turned back, “Is Daisy mine?”

“What?” Marie asked.

“You heard me. Is Daisy my daughter?”

Marie hesitated. She wasn’t sure, but in truth, there was a chance. It was a very small chance, but a chance, nonetheless. The timing could have lined up. She had always just dismissed it because Daisy looked a tiny bit like Luke, but Daisy really looked much more like Marie than like either man.

“You don’t know,” he said, more a statement than a question, after Marie was silent for too long.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, “Luke is the only father she’s ever known and they both love each other.”

“If she’s mine, she could be Turned. The three of us could be a family together forever.” 

Marie exhaled deeply. This definitely wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She tried to pause and just clear her head and think. After thinking for a minute, Marie asked, “How did you know her name was Daisy? I never mentioned her name.”

But when Marie turned back around, Michael was already gone.

**Tuesday, September 6, 1988**

**Caribou, Maine**

“Good morning, everyone, My name is Ms. Listabolli and I will be teaching your English 11 this year,” said Ms. Listabolli, as the bell rang and the students settled into their seats, “We have assigned seats in this class, so I would like everyone to get up and stand at the back of the classroom. When I call your name, please come and sit in the seat you’ve been assigned. Take note of the people sitting beside you because they will be sitting next to you in my class for the rest of this school year and there will be group work assigned _with your seat-mates_.”

Ms. Listabolli began to call out students’ names. Some teachers sat students alphabetically, but this seating chart appeared to be more-or-less random. Despite being near the middle of the alphabet, Marie was placed squarely at the rear of Ms. Listabolli’s class. Marie found herself sitting next to a girl she had never seen before with a bottle-blonde Madonna bobbed hairstyle gelled into perfect curls, long dark eyelashes framing dark sapphire eyes, smooth skin, perfectly arched brows, skin-tight jeans ripped at the knees, and a black leather jacket, named Sheryl Pembrooke. Sheryl didn’t exactly look like she’d be in Marie’s social circle, but then again, Marie didn’t really have a social circle. Marie offered Sheryl a warm smile as she sat down beside her. To Marie’s relief, Sheryl returned the smile.

“Hi,” Marie whispered to Sheryl, as the rest of the class settled in and Ms. Listabolli began to go over class expectations for the semester, “I heard the teacher say that your name’s Sheryl Pembrooke. My name’s Marie Jordan. I’ve never seen you before. Are you new here?”

“No, but I don’t know many other juniors yet,” whispered Sheryl back, “I just got moved up. I was in ninth grade classes last year. I got held back a few years ago during middle school, but my parents made me take summer school classes this year to catch up.”

After a little while, Ms. Listabolli set the students to work on a collaborative writing assignment with a partner. Marie and Sheryl were teamed up together. After they finished the assignment with ease, Marie asked Sheryl, “Can I see your schedule?” Sheryl passed her schedule across the desk to Marie. Marie compared Sheryl’s class schedule to her own. “We have every class together!” she said with a smile. Sheryl smiled back.

\--=o0/&\0o=--

By lunchtime, Marie and Sheryl were chatting about music, clothes, aspirations, and much more. “It’s kind of a junker, but I’ve got a car. Do you want to go off-campus with me for lunch?” asked Sheryl. 

Marie was thrilled. “I’d love to; I’ve never been off-campus for lunch before. Where did you want to go?”

“How about McDonald’s over on Woodland? I know fast food can be kind of greasy sometimes, but it’s quick. The half hour for lunch goes by fast when you go off-campus.”

“That works for me,” said Marie. She followed Sheryl out to her car, a burgundy 1972 Pontiac Ventura that looked to be more rust than car.

“You have to really jam the door handle button to get it to open,” Sheryl said, as Marie tried to figure out how to open the door, wincing at Marie’s struggle, “I know; it’s horrible - isn’t it?”

“I think it’s awesome!” gushed Marie, as she opened the door and sat down, “I wish I had a car!”

“Marie, you’re so sweet. It only has lap belts, but buckle in. Do you want a ride home tonight?”

“That would be great. I usually have to walk home,” said Marie.

“Not any more, you don’t,” offered Sheryl, as she pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket, “Do you mind if I light up?”

“No, go ahead. Are you eighteen already?” asked Marie.

Sheryl grinned mischievously, “I am according to my fake I.D. Impressed, or horrified?”

“I’m actually fairly impressed. Where did you get a fake I.D.? Do you just use it to buy cigarettes?”

“It’s actually a real license. I found it in a bathroom at the Kmart in Presque Isle this past summer,” Sheryl pronounced the word as two syllables, ‘press-kay’. “The girl in it looks enough like me that I can use it if I wear a lot of makeup. I’ve used it to go to concerts at the club in town. It won’t get me drinks because she’s only nineteen, but it will get me in the door.”

“Wow, you’re not a Mainer, are you?” asked Marie.

“I already told you I’m not 18 yet.”

Marie giggled a little, “No, not a ‘minor’, a ‘Mainer’!”

“What’s a ‘Mainer’?” asked Sheryl in reply.

“You know, someone from Maine.”

“No,” said Sheryl, with a note of surprise, “Born and raised in Michigan. My dad’s been stationed at the military base near here for a few years now. What gave me away?”

“It’s pronounced Presque,” replied Marie, pronouncing the word as one syllable, “like P-R-E-S-K. The other ‘E’ is silent.”

Sheryl laughed, “Thanks. I’m working on it, but a few things still come out sounding different. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Wait until you hear me ask for ‘pop’ instead of ‘soda’.” Marie laughed, too.

When they arrived at McDonald’s and got their food, Marie looked out the window. “Oh my God, it’s him!” she cried. Sitting there at the picnic tables in the front of the building was Luke Jackson. Marie’s cheeks were hot and flushed a bright crimson as she gaped at Luke’s tight sinuous arms and muscular chest in his form-fitting New England Patriots t-shirt and the way the sun glistened off of his hair, making it look almost sparkly.

“Wow, Marie, you’ve got it pretty bad, haven’t you? What’s his name?”

“Luke Jackson,” Marie squealed, “Isn’t he gorgeous?”

Sheryl made a face, “Umm … not my type. Too pretty for me. Why don’t you go talk to him, though?”

“I could never just talk to a guy like him! He’s like in another galaxy from me. He’s so smart and handsome and athletic and perfect.” Marie spent the rest of lunch swooning over Luke while she talked with Cheryl, staring at him clowning around with his buddies and stuffing his face with fast food.

“Marie, you have some serious confidence issues, but I think you’ve got this. Stick with me and by the time our graduation comes, we’ll have you so confident that we’ll have guys like Luke walking up and asking _you _out,” boasted Sheryl, grinning wildly.

\--=o0/&\0o=--

Marie and Sheryl were standing at the lockers in between sixth and seventh periods when they heard the commotion. They looked up. A neckless senior with black hair and a military-short haircut, by the name of Jimmy Morton, was beating on lockers of some of the brainier underclassmen and one of the kids he was harassing was kneeling on the floor over a pile of books and papers, crying.

Luke walked up to Jimmy. A hush fell over the others in the hallway so much so that Marie could hear every word he was saying. “Jimmy,” said Luke, “what are you doing? Why are you giving these guys a tough time?” Luke put his hand forcefully against one of the adjoining lockers that Jimmy was beating on.

“What’s it matter to you, preppy? You going to do something about it?” said Jimmy.

“Maybe I will,” said Luke, “What’s your name, kid?” he asked of the closest boy that Jimmy was harassing. 

“Me? Umm, John,” the kid said in a little squeaky voice between sobs, sounding shocked that Luke would ask his name at all.

Luke turned to look at Jimmy. “Jimmy, I was all-state in wrestling last season. I know I beat guys stronger than you last year and I think I could beat you now if I wanted to. Do you really want to make something out of this, or are you going to apologize to John, here, and help him pick up all of his books? 

“If we get in a fight and I kick your ass, it’s going to be my word against yours - along with whatever everyone else in this hallway who was a witness says - and I can tell you right now that I was on the honor roll last year and the principal likes me. I’m also pretty sure that no one else who saw what you just did to John is going to take your side on this one, either.”

Jimmy grudgingly made a half-hearted apology to John and started picking up the books, as Luke stood by and watched.

“Thanks, Luke,” said John, smiling in between sniffly sobs, as Jimmy walked away, “You’re my hero.”

“Anytime,” said Luke, “Jimmy could be an okay guy occasionally if he wanted to be, but just a big douchebag sometimes when he’s showing off. I used to be pretty much right where you are before I started lifting weights three years ago, so I get it. John, let me give you my phone number and if Jimmy ever bothers you again, I want you to call me and I’ll have another little talk with Jimmy.”

\--=o0/&\0o=--

The rest of the afternoon flew by. As Marie and Sheryl were exiting their 8th period class, Sheryl asked, “Are you ready to head home now, Marie?”

“Sure; that sounds great!”

“You’ll have to give me directions as we go,” said Sheryl, “I’m horrible at finding my way places.”

“No problem,” said Marie. They stopped by their lockers and headed out to Sheryl’s car. By this time of day, the black and burgundy checkered interior fabric of Sheryl’s car was scorching.

“Sorry there’s no A/C,” offered Sheryl, as they piled everything in and manually cranked the windows wide.

Marie smiled, “Hey, there’s no A/C if I walk home, either!” They both laughed as Sheryl started the car out of the parking lot.

“So, what do you want to do with the rest of your life after this burg, Marie? Caribou is clearly too small a town for me.”

“I’ve been thinking about becoming a song-writer,” mused Marie, “That’s my dream, anyways. I just love music and poetry. I feel like I’ve always got a song in my heart. I know it’s not practical, though. Turn right at the next corner.”

“Screw practical,” Sheryl offered, “live your dreams, baby; that’s what I say. If you can’t be happy with what you do, why do it?”

“Thanks, Sheryl. I just don’t want to see myself living in a cardboard box in an alley somewhere because I followed some unrealistic dream. I also don’t want to end up like my mom could’ve, where I never seek out a real career for myself and just end up living off of some man for the rest of my life. Oh, turn at the light ahead.”

“Right or left?” Sheryl asked.

“Sorry, right. I figure I’ll head to college somewhere and end up working in a big city somewhere. Still not sure what kind of career I would want, though. What about you?“

“I was thinking about being a teacher, actually. When I actually try, I am really good at math. Only problem is that I don’t have the patience to deal with stupid!” Sheryl laughed out loud at herself.

“Turn left at the next corner,” instructed Marie, “It’s the third house on the left - the one with the little heart-shaped blue shutters on the windows.” 

Sheryl pulled up into Marie’s driveway. After a couple of moments, Sheryl said, “Hey, wait a minute, I know this neighborhood… Oh, my God! _You live next to Mike Riley!_”

“Who?” asked Marie, cluelessly, as Sheryl turned the engine off.

“Seriously, you don’t know who he is?” Marie shook her head and Sheryl continued as they pulled into Marie’s driveway, “He’s the lead singer for the band The Dredd Pyrot Rawburts. He is so hot, and _amazing _in bed!”

“You slept with my neighbor?” inquired Marie, surprised, as she grabbed her bag to get ready to get out.

“Just once – that’s his bedroom right there,” Sheryl pointed at a window on their side of Mike’s house, “He flunked out of freshman year, so we had some classes together last year. He invited me to a show last May and took me back to his house afterwards – _sooo _good with his hands!”

“So, are you still interested in him?” asked Marie, opening the car door.

“Hmm…” reflected Sheryl, reminiscing, “Not seriously – he’s got a little bit of a drug problem, if you ask me. I was almost willing to overlook it because it really felt like we had a connection that night, but afterwards, he just didn’t ever talk to me again.”

At this point in the conversation, Mike’s best friend pulled up into his driveway and let Mike out. Sheryl smiled and waved from her driver’s seat. 

Marie had never really noticed her neighbor before, but took a moment and sized him up. He had shoulder-length, wavy, red-orange hair that looked soft and glossy to the touch, even from a distance, on the sunny afternoon, with a greenish-blue streak on one side. Marie speculated that despite his age, he looked like the sort of guy who probably had some tattoos. He was smoking a cigarette and wearing a Metallica t-shirt and ripped blue jeans, with a couple of black leather bracelets that had metal studs wrapped around his left wrist. Despite his lack of anything to do with athletics, he had a muscular physique and a body shape that Marie couldn’t help but find appealing. He looked sexy and terrifying to Marie, in a way that you might think a shiny knife or a predatory animal is beautiful and exciting, as long as it is from a distance. Mike looked clueless, but smiled and waved back at Sheryl, then turned and went inside with a cocky look on his face. 

Marie thought that Mike probably just thought Sheryl was another one of his groupies. Mike thought that maybe he might get a chance to get an ‘in’ with ‘Marley’. Sheryl thought that maybe she _was_ interested in Mike, after all – and hoped that Mike was interested in her, too.

**Thursday, September 13, 2001**

**Hampden, Maine**

Marie stared down at her suitcase, with her puffy tear-stained eyes, “I seriously can’t believe I don’t have a black dress that isn’t slutty and showing a ton of cleavage! Whose stupid idea was it not to buy a respectable funeral dress when I re-stocked my wardrobe after I lost all that weight?” she said, “Do you really think it’ll be okay?”

“Relax, Honey,” said Luke, “I’m sure the important thing is that you’re there.”

Marie sniffled, pulled out the black V-necked dress from her closet, “You know, Sheryl helped me pick out this dress? She was always telling me that I dressed too conservative.” She started sobbing again.

“See?” said Luke, putting his arm around her shoulders and chuckling slightly, “She would have wanted you to look hot for her funeral.”

Marie smiled in-between tears and chuckled back dryly, “No,” she said, “Sheryl would have wanted _her_ to look hot at her funeral, with all of the guys she ever loved crying their eyes out over her. She would have been _mildly pleased_ if I also looked hot at her funeral. 

“God, it just sucks so much that there isn’t even a body in a casket to mourn over! I’m just going to miss her so much. How am I going to get through this _day_ without her, let alone the rest of my life? I really wish you were going with me; I need you so much right now.”

“You know I would if I could,” said Luke, as he rubbed Marie’s back gently, “Do you really want me to risk going to jail?”

“No,” Marie sighed, grudgingly, between sniffs as she started zipping up her suitcase.

“Besides,” Luke offered, “We talked about this already. It’s only a week. Sheryl’s mom really needs you to help wrap up all of the details and help with the funeral in Caribou, and then you can come home again. It won’t be so long.”

“’Only a week’ suddenly has new meaning. Those 20 minutes on the phone with Sheryl were the longest of my whole life. I can’t take another whole week.”

Luke put his other arm around Marie and turned her shoulders to face him, “Honey, the entire country’s mourning right now in the wake of what happened on Tuesday, and you’re no exception, but I know you. You’re stronger than you think you are. You can get through this.”

Marie leaned in for a hug and spoke into Luke’s shoulder, “I just love you so much. I really need you there.”

“I’ll only be a phone call away,” murmured Luke into her hair, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

“Sure,” offered up Marie with a chuckle, playfully elbowing Luke in the ribs, “if I can actually get you to say more than five words on the phone.”

**Saturday, September 15, 2001 2:14 AM**

**Caribou, Maine**

Marie walked into the diner and heard the tinny clink of a bell over the old glass-front door, then stared up at the worn black sign with faded gold lettering, ‘Please wait to be seated.’ _Great_, thought Marie, _after an entire day of my mom, Sheryl’s mom, lawyers, morticians, pastors, guests at the visitation, and the funeral, one _more_ thing telling me what I should do, where I should go, or how I should feel. I just want to decide on my own. It’s 2 in the morning and I’m the only customer in here. Are they seriously going to care where I sit?_ She saw that the booth in the far corner was empty and made her way over to it. There were menus in a pouch sitting at the far end of the table. She picked up one of them. _I hope they have some comfort food_, she thought as she flipped to the dessert section at the back.

Marie looked at her reflection in the diner window. Despite Marie’s best efforts not to cry and the supposedly waterproof mascara she had on, Marie had noticed hours ago that she had raccoon eyes, but she just wasn’t sure if she cared anymore. Partially thanks to the fact that Marie hadn’t eaten anything that day, her all-day lipstick still looked amazingly flawless. Her hair that she had neatly packed into a chignon this morning was mussed, with strands falling out all over. She tugged ruthlessly at the pins and barrettes and pulled her hair free, still damp in places and falling to her shoulders, smelling like her shampoo, and slightly curled from being held tight all day.

As Marie saw her waiter walk up to the table out of the corner of her eye, she closed her menu and then looked up. He was handsome, muscular with a square jaw and wavy auburn-red hair cropped short, dressed in the diner-standard white short-sleeve button-down shirt and black pants with a white apron and kitschy black clip-on bow tie. Marie thought she might have seen a half-hidden tattoo on his right bicep.

“Umm, wow, hi,” he said.

_Rather odd greeting for a waiter_, Marie thought. She made a speculative face.

“Didn’t we used to live near each other or something in high school? Isn’t your name Marley or something?” her waiter asked.

“Oh!” said Marie, smiling despite herself as recognition dawned, “Yeah, I’m Marie. Jackson, now. Used to be Jordan. I think I remember you. You’re Mike Riley, right? I think I used to live next door to you.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Mike’s too much of a kid name. I go by Michael now.” 

“You know, back in the day, my best friend, Sheryl Pembrooke, almost tried to set me up with you once, even though she was completely in love with you.”

“In love with me, huh? No fuck?” asked Michael, “I wonder whatever happened to her. I should look her up.” 

At the mention of what happened to Sheryl, Marie’s breath caught in her throat and she began to cry again. “What? Did I stand her up for prom or something?” Michael asked. Unable to talk between sobs, Marie pulled the oddly patriotic funeral program with the American flag on the front out of the front of her purse and pushed it across the table.

Michael picked up the program and glanced at it for a moment. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, Marie. What can I get you? Anything – even off the breakfast menu – it’s on me. Ralph the cook’ll make pretty much whatever I ask him to. Let me make it up to you for saying such a dick-headed thing.”

_Wow_, thought Marie, as she sniffed back her tears, _he’s pretty free with the cursing, isn’t he_? “No, it’s not your fault. I guess it’s okay,” said Marie, still half-weeping, “With the way she felt about you, she probably would’ve wanted you to have known about it, anyways.” She paused for a moment, trying to compose herself. “Are you sure I could order anything?”

Michael nods. “Yes, please, order whatever you want.”

“Is it okay if I order some chocolate chip pancakes and bacon with a Coke to drink?”

“Coming right up.” Michael said, as he headed back to the grill. In a few moments, he returned to the table with a glass of Coke for Marie. “So, you and Sheryl were pretty close, huh? Do you want to talk about her – or _not_ talk about her? Either way’s cool. I got no one else in here but you for the past few hours and nothin’ else to do but watch Ralph get fatter eating the leftover stale pies from yesterday, so I’m all ears. I would much rather spend it looking at a knockout in a gorgeous black dress than a bald guy with hairy ass-crack hanging out of his pants.” 

Marie smiled, “Sure. Let’s talk about what happened the last ten years.”

**Tuesday, August 21, 1990**

**Western Connecticut State University**

**Danbury, CT**

As Marie picked up the campus directory, she could hardly believe what she was doing. Her fingers raced through the pages, searching for ‘Jackson, Luke’. 

“This is so crazy, Sheryl,” she said into the ancient-looking brown rotary-dial phone hanging from her dorm room wall, “I sure hope this works.”

“Don’t be silly,” encouraged Sheryl, “This is a great idea! You travelled to an entirely different state just to spend time with the guy; could actually making contact with him _really_ be that bad?”

“C’mon, Sheryl, you know that isn’t the reason I chose WCSU!”

Marie found Luke’s name, said goodbye to Sheryl, and set off across campus to find him. A few minutes later, Marie was standing in front of Luke’s dorm room door. She knocked softly and waited a few minutes. No response. _Great_, thought Marie, _I walked all of the way over here and he’s not even here! _

She prepared to knock again when a big, surly-looking stocky fellow who Marie speculated looked to be about twenty-one, with dark hair, five o’clock shadow, and Jason Priestley sideburns opened the door. “What do you want?” he asked, abruptly.

Stunned, Marie asked in a mousy voice, “Is Luke Jackson here, please?”

The beefy guy threw the door open wide and said, “Luke, another freshman for you! Make it quick and get her the hell out of here!” Marie didn’t like the sound of the word, ‘another’ in that sentence.

Luke got up from a velour mustard yellow recliner in the corner of the room, next to a metal folding chair, facing a gigantic television that looked like it weighed 200 pounds. He walked up to the door. “Hi,” he said, with a smile, “Can I help you with something?”

“Hi, you might not remember me from high school, but I went to Caribou with you,” she started, all of the bravado gone out of the introduction she’d practiced on the phone with Sheryl a hundred times before that, but still trying to smile and show off the teeth she had her braces freshly removed from, “My name’s Marie Jordan.”

“It doesn’t ring a bell,” said Luke, “What might I remember you from?”

Marie blushed, scratching her head, “The only thing I can think of is the hurdle accident during track tryouts your junior year. Purple ankle?”

Luke looked like he was thinking for a moment, then shook his head, “Nope, not a thing. What can I do for you?”

“Well,” Marie said, building up her resolve again, “I looked and there weren’t any other Caribou grads here at WCSU for the past couple of years, so I was really hoping maybe you and I could get to know each other and maybe if I asked you nicely, you could show me the ropes a little.”

“Yeah,” said Luke, after thinking it over for a moment, “sure, I think we could probably be friends. Why don’t you give me maybe ten, fifteen minutes to wrap things up here, and I’ll grab my shoes and I can show you some things around campus?” 

“Friends,” she agreed, “sounds good.” This wasn’t quite what Marie had hoped for, but she wasn’t going to turn it down. 

\--=o0/&\0o=--

As they headed out of the building, Marie was somewhere between giddiness at finally getting to spend time with Luke and disappointment that the opportunity was so limited. She said, “Was that your roommate? He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

“That’s my friend Bill. He lives in the room next door. I live in my own room alone, but he hangs out in my room a lot, and we share a bathroom, so he’s my suitemate. He’s just upset because some of the faculty advisors have been giving out my name to freshmen who are having difficulty deciding on majors and they’re all showing up here today while he’s been trying to play Tecmo Bowl with me on my NES.”

“Oh?” asked Marie.

“I came here as a meteorology major when I was admitted last year. We have one of the few meteorology programs around, but even though I was doing well in my classes, I found pretty quickly that meteorology wasn’t for me. I took some of the career counseling and a couple of the placement tests. Now, I’m in the elementary ed program and I’ve never been happier.”

“Wow, you must really like kids,” said Marie, thinking back to the horrible experiences she had with screaming toddlers when she used to babysit kids when she was younger. She couldn’t imagine intentionally spending all day and night with them and not being able to leave.

“I do,” Luke said, “I’d like to have my own someday when I find the right girl.” 

\--=o0/&\0o=--

“Hello,” said Sheryl into the phone.

“Sheryl, I did it, I did it!” exclaimed Marie, Luke and I just spent the last hour walking around campus together with him giving me the tour! It was so great!”


End file.
